All That Divides
by DominaEcca
Summary: A short, historical patchwork that documents the relationship between Sweden and Germany starting in 1914.
1. Chapter 1

**Part One**

This will be a two-part project. This first part documents 1914-1930 from both Sweden and Germany's points of view. It's a little over-dramatic, but the idea is just that since they are the human representation of nations, they are endowed with human characteristics, their own emotions included. This story is about them becoming aware of these feelings, which are their own (and not their people's).

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Sweden<strong>

_1914_

He wanted to speak. It wasn't a want he often held, but perhaps it was because he knew he couldn't. He wasn't _allowed _to speak.

Maybe if this had happened sooner he would have been able to do something, but, no. It wasn't really his decision, anyway. While the others began to raise their voices and made violent promises, he remained silent. He had to. Sweden would not involve itself, and thus, he could not speak.

The tall blond at the head of the table would sometimes look over at him, but their eyes only met once, and only for a moment. The innocence he saw beneath his determined, disciplined gaze was something the Swedish nation could only regard as sickening. It was wrong to see such naivety in a time like this; it could only lead to trouble. But trouble, Sweden observed, already seemed to be in motion.

The sun set that evening, its fiery rays shining in through the western windows as the Germanic states stood together. However, in the eyes of the Swedish kingdom, the reddening light seemed to douse them in blood. A warning from the gods themselves.

And there was nothing he could do.

_Neutrality._

* * *

><p><strong>Germany<strong>

Change was coming. He could feel the tension, the restlessness of his state.

He tried not to let it show in front of the others, however. He was aware that the looming threat of war was not a thing to take with anything other than solemnity. And yet, the most sobering thing he found in that meeting room, regardless of the screaming and the threats and the angry gnashing of teeth, was a single, neutral nation who remained silent. The nation of Sweden sat unobtrusively towards the far end of the table, out of the immediate reach of evening light that poured across the oaken table. He was shadowed, but his striking features and flaxen hair still caught his attention.

Sweden looked right back at him when Germany turned his gaze in his direction. Most of the others were no longer so bold.

The conversation was progressing, however, and someone stood to shout, demanding his attention. Yet, he felt it hard to look away. It seemed almost as though he had been trying to communicate with him simply through shared visual contact, but he couldn't quite decipher the message.

This confused him. Sweden had as much right to speak at this meeting as anyone who had spoken previously; if he wished to say something, he should have just stood. Unless, his mind slowly offered a quiet solution, what he wanted to say was not meant for the ears of others.

Eventually convinced that this was the reason for the strange feeling he had when he thought about their brief exchange of eye contact, Germany sought him out after the meeting. He caught him as the tall nation was leaving with the other Nordic states, but when he turned and their eyes met again, he felt as though he had been frozen in place. He couldn't speak.

Sweden's eyes were calm, almost to the point of appearing tired, and he didn't seem confused by the fact Germany had approached only to stare at him. He wasn't sure if either of them were going to speak, but as they stared at each other again, he slowly felt the same feeling he had before returning to him. It was as if the taller man would rather try to breach a telepathic bond with him instead of communicating his thoughts aloud.

Yet, again, he could not translate the coded message the Swedish kingdom was trying to deliver before one of the Nordic nations walked over and touched the taller man's arm. He hesitated, but broke the connection between them to look down at the considerably shorter man. He mumbled almost inaudibly, but Sweden nodded, and stood a little straighter. He only looked back at Germany to nod a farewell, and then turned and left, rejoining with the other northern nations that were waiting outside.

He tried to hide his confusion, but it frustrated him. What did this mean?

* * *

><p><strong>Sweden<strong>

_1918_

He had been on his mind a lot lately.

Sweden felt the change as his people began to shift away from the German influence in their culture, but somehow, he felt strangely separated from it. He usually felt these kinds of changes as his own, but this time, he was aware of it as a feeling isolated from his own. Maybe it was because of the upper class, which still adhered to the old Germanic influences. He told himself it was.

The tall nation often found himself endlessly poring over volumes of German literature, over everything from poetry to philosophy. It was almost as though he could touch something through the words and pages that formed intricate ideas and theories. It was something distant, but somehow, it felt unbearably familiar. It was always just out of his reach, however, no matter how many books he read.

Separated was the only way to explain the way he felt, because this literary need didn't end, even after his fifth time going over Friedrich Schiller. Even after the rest of the Swedish population followed suit and moved away from its influence. He was separated from what he felt as the nation of Sweden it seemed, but somehow it mattered less to him than being separated from what he felt through the readings.

* * *

><p><strong>Germany<strong>

_1926_

He was so quiet. Not that he had ever spoken to him very much, but for a moment, it seemed he wasn't even breathing. Yet, eventually, he nodded slowly. Sweden wasn't going to ask why; he knew.

The Germanic nation had a strange compulsion to apologize, but any words he might have spoken caught in his throat. He wasn't sure why he wished to do such a thing, as it was normal and proper for nations to shift their agreements often, but perhaps it was due to the strange expression on the Swedish kingdom's face. His fair skin had visibly paled, as though this sudden news had made him sick with a worry that had finally been confirmed.

He knew Sweden's economy could be described as dependent on his, but what choice did he have? It seemed that their trade agreement was no longer in Germany's best interest, so he was ordered to end it. He was doing as he was told; it was business. Sweden was the same, so he understood. And yet, the look on Sweden's normally expressionless face was giving him actual, physical pain.

He didn't understand this strange aching in his chest, and when he left, nothing more being said, he pressed the heel of his hand over his chest. It felt tight. Whatever it was, he knew that this was his, that Germany was not feeling this same pain.

It was his alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Sweden<strong>

_1930_

This time, Sweden was not alone in his interest in Germany. However, despite the worrisome questions Swedish journalists sought during the German elections, his attention fell to something else entirely. Although the term 'National Socialism' was now on the lips of many, and although Sweden was concerned, it was not for the sake of peace and stability of Europe that he followed German politics.

He worried for Germany. Not necessarily for the citizens, as it was honestly hard for the nations to feel such a thing since they naturally had to be selfish, but for Germany himself. He knew the pain change could bring upon them physically, as well as mentally, but the political gap between them was widening. He wanted to speak to him directly, to offer some kind of comfort or reassurance of friendship, but instead the Swedish press suddenly took on a critical view of Germany and National Socialism and he felt the distance growing.

Already their political negotiations and meetings were tense and strained, and Sweden was often ordered not to speak to Germany at all. Germany did not appear to be under the same orders, and on occasion would speak to him, but he rarely spoke back, and when he did it was nothing of his own thoughts. He wished to push aside all of the political concerns, if only for a moment, just so that he could speak to him, just so that he could say what he had been trying to say for years, but he always watched him leave the embassy in silence..

He wasn't sure why he only had this problem with Germany. He could speak to the other Nordic nations if he desired, and he could even speak to the more powerful nations if he had something to say. It was only the meticulous, blond, Germanic nation that he had any trouble with. And now, when he was near, or when he was discussed, his chest felt tight, and he would feel unbearably warm. It was as though the tension was wrapping itself around him, suffocating him in feelings he didn't understand, choking him with words whose meanings he didn't know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sweden**

_1933_

The day had been quiet, calm. That was, until Sweden was seized by a sudden but strong feeling, and threw the book he held in his hands as hard as he could. The thick spine didn't crack half as bad as the wall. He knew this feeling: worsening political disagreements.

He had guessed the cause before he received the phone call: Germany had a new leader.

Sweden's body collapsed heavily on his desk while he struggled to hold the phone.

The Swedish press covered the story with an attitude of disdain that was beginning to rub off on the people of his nation. They had come to distrust Germany. Perhaps to fear it. He didn't fear Germany, and he felt no disdain towards him. Yet, by now he had accepted that he held his own feelings towards the Germanic nation, apart from the feelings of the actual nation he represented, though he was always well aware of them.

This further disruption to their already tense relations would make negotiations between them even harder and scarcer. He wondered if they would even shake hands any longer. He had heard his own leader mumbling about ceasing the friendly gesture of greeting. The thought of no long being able to have any kind of contact with the German nation made his stomach twist into a cold knot.

He glanced over at the book as it lay crumpled on the floor, hardly listening to the phone any longer. He was feeling as thought whatever he had almost touched through literature was torn away from him. He wondered if it had ever actually been close.

Perhaps he was simply losing his mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Germany<strong>

_1935_

He didn't keep him waiting; he arrived precisely on time.

Blond nation walked calmly, but couldn't help the rhythm in his step. He practically marched into to the tall building, yet, he didn't feel the same as he had towards the other nations he had seen in the past year. He was in Sweden to suggest friendship.

A strange excitement churned inside of him. He was eager. He wanted to tell the Swedish nation they could at last be allies, friends. Maybe more.

Germany had been forced to come to terms with his strange feelings for the northern kingdom a few months earlier. He wasn't familiar with complex emotions or unclear notions of opinion, but, there was something about Sweden that he was utterly drawn to. Though he hadn't expressed it out loud, he had accepted it mentally. He wanted the Swedish kingdom, and with the military-style thought process running the majority of his mind, he _decided_ that he would be his. Somehow.

When the tall Swede came into view, he felt his breathing quicken despite his attempts to remain calm. He felt that the smile he wore in greeting was an honest one, but the Sweden didn't smile back. He didn't even shake his hand.

Germany's heart had begun to sink as they sat and began their meeting.

Sweden must have expected his offer, because as soon as it left his lips, the Swedish nation reaffirmed his neutrality. Nothing more.

He didn't plead, he didn't question his decision. He simply thanked him for his time, stood, and without another word, he left.

His heart might have felt heavier, but he told himself it wouldn't be long until this was over. If all went according to plan, Sweden would want to befriend him eventually. Once he saw how things turned out in his favor, they would be able to be together. Germany felt his pulse and sighed. Perhaps he was losing his rationality to the insane disorder of raw emotion, but he couldn't help himself. There was just something about the northern kingdom that had caught his attention, and so his desire.

It would have to wait, but he told himself it wouldn't be long.

* * *

><p><strong>Sweden<strong>

_1950_

He paced slowly along the length of the bookshelves.

When the war had finally ended, he had expected much more change. However, very little had happened in the past few years. Germany was still divided; the Allies were fighting each other now. Sweden tried not to think too bitterly towards any of them, as everyone had suffered great losses in the war, but he desired their withdrawal. He hadn't seen Germany in years. None of them had. Only the Allies.

His eyes reached the end of a shelf, and he realized he hadn't honestly read a single title. He sighed, but moved to the next shelf anyway.

Sweden wasn't expecting the call, but when he answered he was informed that they would again try to establish trading agreements with Germany. Their negotiations would be overseen, and they only intended to deal with the western half of the divide, but Sweden felt something like hope rising in his chest. The chance to see him again, to hear his voice, would make this attempt worth the effort, regardless of the success of their negotiations.

Although these feeling towards Germany were felt as his own, as personal, human emotions, they were still nations. Sweden saw this to his advantage, however. He had held these feelings for nearly half a century, he could wait longer if he had to. He could wait until the end of time, just as long as there was a chance he'd be there, a chance that they might somehow be together. After all, now that he had accepted himself as being more than just a representation, he knew he would be able to speak. To say what he had been aching to say.

* * *

><p><strong>Germany<strong>

_1989_

Confusion. Nearly panic. Shouting filled the air and people filled the streets.

At first, he hadn't believed it. Or had thought it had been some kind of mistake.

_…__The gates of the Berlin Wall stand open._

It chanted over and over in his mind.

The citizens of East Berlin flooded the checkpoints, shouting and shoving, trying to get through as soon as they heard the news. There was more confusion, the phone didn't stop ringing, but he didn't bother to answer it. Instead, he watched from the high window for as long as he could before he turned and ran outside. In the crowd, he was just another German, but he felt the intensity of this in its entirety. He thought his heart was going to burst.

As he sifted through the crowd, he suddenly the guards who were desperately trying to hold back the East Berliners suddenly relent, and they stood back to allow people through freely. There was more confusion as people tried to search for their families and friends, but as he moved among the people he was embraced by a complete stranger. In a fit of emotion, he hugged him back. Then, a particular person became visible in the wave of people. Someone who stood out worse than the sorest of thumbs. Someone with absurdly colored hair and red eyes. By the time they met he was already in tears, and when he hugged his brother, Germany sobbed like a child.

The next day, the wall itself began to fall. Demolition teams were called in to bring it down, but the people took to the massive structure with their own hammers and pickaxes. That night, there was a crowd at the wall again, even larger than the previous day's. They sang and drank and danced on the hated construction. For nearly thirty years that damned thing had divided his country, and now they climbed up and sat on it as though it were hardly more than a glorified bench.

Amidst the rejoicing and the weeping, Germany sensed something else. The feeling of the wall itself falling had been strange at first, but it pleased him. Then, there was the sensation of the other nations coming to celebrate, Hungary and Italy, among others. Now, he sensed someone else, someone he had not been informed was coming.

This man also stood out awkwardly, but he was well aware, and kept far off to the side, closer to the shadows where his dark coat would help to camouflage him. However, Germany's keen eyes were able to catch sight of the tall figure, and he pulled himself from the crowd and made his way to him. He had hoped he would be able to speak with him once things calmed down a bit, but he never would have expected him so soon.

"Sweden," he muttered when he drew closer and the man had not moved.

He regarded him for a moment, and then tried to swallow discreetly, but Germany noticed this as well. He seemed, nervous?

"Sweden?" he said again, taking another step closer. "What is it?"

The tall, northern nation cast his eyes down. For a moment it appeared he had no intention of responding, but then he withdrew his hands, which, as Germany had failed to notice, had been behind his back. Sweden then presented him with an absurdly large bouquet of stunningly white flowers.

"I heard the news yesterday," he muttered quietly, a visible blush on his pale cheeks, though his eyes still remained fixed on the ground.

"Thank you," he said after recovering from his surprise, accepting the flowers and then taking his turn to feel shy.

There was a stretch of silence while they avoided each other's eyes skillfully, but then they met inevitably, and he coughed under his intense stare.

"You know…I'm glad you're here." he told him eventually.

His mouth opened as though he was about to speak, and Germany found himself tense with anticipation. However, no words were spoken, and his mouth closed again as his brows furrowed deeply.

Whatever he had to say, it seemed he couldn't say it. Germany felt his shoulders fall slightly. With a sharp intake of breath, Sweden then took a sudden step forward, and wrapped his long fingers around the wrist of Germany's hand that held the flowers. With a gentle tug, he lifted the large bunch of vibrantly white lilies up a bit higher, effectively shielding their faces from any onlookers. Then, he wrapped his other arm around his waist, using it to pull him a step closer, and tilted his head fractionally to the side. Germany froze, waiting for him to move, to close the thinnest gap between them, but he didn't. After a moment, he realized that he was waiting for him to move. He wouldn't force this kind of contact on him; he was an honorable man.

_Damn him_, Germany thought, and before his bashfulness could overcome him, he grabbed the front of his dark jacket with his free hand and pressed their lips together hard.

It was something he could have almost described as a relief. After thinking of him for so long, secretly hoping, dreaming, to finally have his mouth lock against his own intimately, it was almost impossible to believe. When Germany had been forced to admit defeat all those years ago, he had also been forced to give up on his hope of Sweden joining him, of Sweden being his. Since then, the best he figured he could have hoped for were good trade agreements, and friendly political contact. But, with a deep inhale when he didn't pull away, the northern kingdom pulled him in tighter, his grip on his wrist unintentionally tightening as well, and deepened the kiss; obviously, he had miscalculated his chances of winning Sweden's attention.

Refocusing his mind on their immediate actions, he was hesitant to part his lips at first, cautious to try anything too new, but once he caught a taste of him, a sweet, warm taste, their tongues were suddenly meeting almost fiercely, demanding more. He didn't note his lips for being soft as much as he noticed how firm they were. They were strong, able to lead his as though it was a dance, but he yielded enough to allow him the freedom to move and search as he pleased.

The kiss ended abruptly when someone whistled at them from a little ways off, and he jerked away, blushing intensely even though they couldn't be seen through the dense flower cover. Sweden didn't look away, however; once those beautiful, clear eyes opened, he was staring at him with an unrelenting intensity. After a moment, he realized why.

"I'm sorry," Sweden struggled to say, and moved like he intended to step away, obviously misreading Germany's reaction to the intimate touch.

However, the Germanic state still held his coat tightly in his fist, and had no intention of letting him go.

"Sweden, I," he began to choke, but something spurred him on, whether it was the intensity of the feeling of his country being reunited or his own knowledge that this was his one chance, he swallowed hard and forced himself to just _say it_. "I love you,"

He stared between his eyes for only a fraction of a second before he knocked him back a few steps with a forceful embrace.

"I love you too," he muttered quietly beside his ear, the soft, warm breath making him shiver. "I have…always, since that day,"

"I know." he tightened his arms around him and savored his musky scent. "Me too."

Germany didn't know what this meant, to have something with Sweden. Hell, he didn't even know if they were _allowed_ to have anything, but just for a moment, he didn't care. For now, the night was young, and the German people were celebrating. Just for a few hours they didn't have to be nations; they could be men. And now, he held the man he'd desired for decades in his arms; even he couldn't help but to grin at that.

"Come on," he urged, pulling back a little. "Let's go to my place,"

A small, playful smile crossed his normally blank face as he tried to hold him back. "We're already here."

He swatted at him, but his hand was caught before being pulled down so Sweden could hold it in his own. He did this so shamelessly as they began to walk, and his face remained calm while Germany was certain his cheeks were on fire.

"No one will notice; tonight is their own." he said quietly, nodding at the large crowd that was singing and clapping cheerfully.

Still, any time he spotted anyone looked over he immediately looked away, walking a bit closer to the taller nation in an attempt to hide their hands that remained firmly clasped at their sides. Sweden seemed amused by this, but he didn't say anything more. The night outside might have belonged to the united people of East and West Berlin, but privately, tonight belonged to two people, who had been separated for far too long.


End file.
